“You’re Up For More?” Shannon Said With A Laugh. Letter to Reader Title Page About the Author Dedication Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Copyright

“You’re Up For More?” Shannon Said With A Laugh.

“Now that’s a loaded question,” Ian replied.

Her expression quickly changed from confusion to embarrassed surprise. “You’re incredible,” she muttered.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.” He cupped his hand over her thigh to keep her from vaulting out of the chair.

Shannon removed his hand and rose. Ian watched her swift retreat in amusement. He was getting to her. No more than she had gotten to him. He needed to alleviate this fevered preoccupation with her, and he knew only two ways to accomplish that. He could give up and return to his solitary way of life. Or he could put aside his inherent distrust and open his mind to the possibility of a long-term relationship.

Just the thought caused his stomach muscles to contract painfully. There had to be a middle ground between the two.

Dear Reader,

This month Silhouette Desire brings you six brand-new, emotional and sensual novels by some of the bestselling—and most beloved—authors in the romance genre.

Cait London continues her hugely popular miniseries THE TALLCHIEFS with The Seduction of Fiona Tallchief, April’s MAN OF THE MONTH. Next, Elizabeth Bevarly concludes her BLAME IT ON BOB series with The Virgin and the Vagabond. And when a socialite confesses her virginity to a cowboy, she just might be Taken by a Texan, in Lass Small’s THE KEEPERS OF TEXAS miniseries.

Plus, we have Maureen Child’s Maternity Bride, The Cowboy and the Calendar Girl, the last in the OPPOSITES ATTRACT series by Nancy Martin, and Kathryn Taylor’s tale of domesticating an office-bound hunk in Taming the Tycoon.

I hope you enjoy all six of Silhouette Desire’s selections this month—and every month!

Regards,

Senior Editor

Silhouette Books

Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service

U.S. 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian P.O. Box 609, Fort Ene, Ont L2A 5X3

Kathryn Taylor

Taming the Tycoon

www.millsandboon.co.uk

KATHRYN TAYLOR’s

passion for romance novels began in her late teens and left her with an itch to discover the world. After living in places as culturally diverse as Athens, Greece, and Cairo, Egypt (where she met and married her own romantic hero), she returned to the States, and she and her husband settled in the quiet village of Warwick, New York. Kathryn says, “Although my writing allows my mind to soar in the clouds, I have an energetic ten-year-old who keeps my feet planted on the ground.”

To Fouad and Jasmin,

for accepting if not understanding

my obsession with writing.

A special thanks to my family for their support

and my critique partners for keeping me on track.

One

“What do you mean, I have a sister?” Ian Bradford came to his feet and leveled a stony glare at the middle-aged attorney seated behind the mahogany desk. “There has to be a mistake.”

Richard Jenkins had been the family lawyer for more years than Ian could remember. His dealings with the man had been more cordial and more frequent than his dealings with his father.

“There’s no mistake, Ian Here’s a copy of the birth certificate.”

He grabbed the official document with the raised seal. His father’s heart attack hadn’t been as big of a shock as this latest revelation. “Two years old?”

“Nearly three,” Jenkins mumbled.

“What the hell’s the difference? He was well into his sixties.”

Jenkins puffed up indignantly. “You don’t give up sex after forty.”

Ian let out a bitter laugh. “My old man sure didn’t.”

Wesley Bradford had been in the throes of a mid-life crisis for the past thirty years, but he had always prided himself on the fact that, after his divorce, no other woman had been able to land him.

“It says here that the mother was only twenty-five. Tiffany Moore. What kind of name is that? It sounds like a lamp.” Ian grunted in disgust. “Twenty-five? Well, he did like them young.”

“Your father had a lot of charisma.”

“My father had a lot of money. That was the extent of his charm. Take it from someone who knew him better than most.”

Ian glanced at the document again. If his father had been so proud of his daughter, why had he not allowed her to bear his name? A woman could claim any man as the father on a birth certificate. Especially when a share in a successful company was involved. This unknown child and her scheming mother deserved no part of that company.

“We’ll see about this,” Ian snarled. “You better believe I’ll demand a blood test.”

Jenkins shook his head. “Don’t you think Wesley insisted on that before he agreed to pay child support? The results are in the file.”

“And the child’s mother? Where is she living now?”

“She died six months ago in a car accident. Your sister lives with her aunt in some small town in upstate New York.”

“I don’t have a sister.”

“Call her what you want. Chelsea Moore is Wesley’s daughter, and according to the terms of the will she owns half of Westervelt Properties.”

Ian groaned. His father had picked a cruel way to acknowledge his paternal obligations to both his offspring. Why didn’t he leave his bastard his money? Ian neither wanted nor needed that. He was glad now that his grandfather hadn’t come with him today. The bequests would only rub salt in an old wound. No doubt, Wesley couldn’t resist one more twist of the knife, even from the grave.

Ian had waited twenty years to fulfill the promise he had made when he was little more than a child. No one would take this from him now. No one.

“If I contest the will?”

“You don’t have grounds.” Jenkins furrowed his eyebrows in consternation, then broke out in a sly grin. “You could sue for the administrative rights of your sister’s inheritance. A judge might look more favorably on a sibling bond than that of an unmarried aunt. Especially when you’re more familiar with the company.”

“Do it.”

“Whoa, Ian. That’s not my field. I’ll have to work with someone on this one.”

“Fine. Have your secretary draw up the necessary papers for me to sign today.” Ian leaned back, allowing himself to relax for the first time since reading his father’s will. “What do you know about this aunt?”

“She’ll be here in a half an hour. You can judge for yourself. I wanted to meet with you first because I know your feelings about your father’s company.”

“My grandfather’s company,” Ian corrected.

“Wesley bought—”

Ian’s fist came down on the table. “He swindled it.”

Absently, Jenkins fidgeted with his tie. He could defend his client until hell froze over, but both he and Ian knew the truth.

While Ian’s mother recuperated from cancer surgery in a hospital, Wesley had used the power of attorney rights she’d granted him to transfer her shares of Westervelt Properties to himself. Adding them to his own shares, he controlled fifty-one percent of the company, which he’d used to force Ian’s grandfather out as president.

Jenkins drummed his fingers on the desktop. “Why don’t you meet with the woman and see if you can come to some sort of terms before beginning a legal battle that could drag on for a couple of years?”

“What good would that do?”

“The way it stands now, the child’s shares are to be held in a trust to be administered by her guardian. Maybe she’ll find it a lesser risk to sell the shares and hold the trust in cash.”

“Let’s hope you’re right.”

The lawyer shook his head sorrowfully. “Then control that Bradford temper of yours. I know that Wesley never treated you or your mother fairly...”

He waved his hand to cut Jenkins off. Ian wouldn’t accept sympathy from a man who had helped his father cheat his grandparents out of their family business. “Spare me the sermon. Give me what you’ve got on the aunt. I like to know what I’m up against before I go into a meeting.”

Ian thumbed through the folder of his father’s personal papers. The compilation of material Wesley had gathered about his former mistress and her mother was a testament to his devious and distrustful nature. Not that he’d been completely wrong. Both women had attached themselves to wealthy older men. Unfortunately for Ian, his father apparently had seen no need to have the sister investigated, as well.

Shannon Moore checked the address on the envelope. Richard Jenkins, Esquire. Suite 218. She wasn’t sure why she had come. Certainly the lawyer could have forwarded a copy of the will. After all, Wesley Bradford had never acknowledged his daughter while he was alive. And he had been more than willing to terminate child support payments after Tiffany’s untimely death. Although the decision to refuse the money had been Shannon’s, if the man had cared a wit, he would have put up a fight for his child.

After smoothing her linen skirt over her hips, she opened the outer door and stepped inside the plush offices.

A receptionist glanced up from her desk. “Miss Moore?”

“Yes.”

“Mr. Jenkins is expecting you.” She lifted the phone and announced Shannon’s arrival. “First door on the right.”

Shannon nodded and walked down the corridor. A man met her in the hall and extended his hand. “Thank you for coming, Miss Moore. I’m Richard Jenkins.”

She smiled and allowed him to guide her into the conference room.

Inside, a second man rose from his seat at the table and nodded in her direction. “Miss Moore.”

His silk suit and gold watch spoke of wealth, but the calloused hand he offered told of a man who had earned his money with hard work. He eased back into the leather chair and raised his lips in an arrogant grin. Ice blue eyes appraised her, unsettling her in a way she hadn’t felt in years. Blatantly sexual with a hint of danger, he was everything she avoided in a man.

“This is Ian Bradford,” Jenkins said, sounding as uncomfortable as she felt.

So, he was Wesley Bradford’s son. In appearance, the two looked nothing alike, but she would guess he had inherited his father’s ruthless streak. If she had known she was walking into an ambush, she would have come prepared.

She tipped her head in his direction. “Mr. Bradford. I’m sorry about your father.”

He answered with a curt nod and a stone-cold glare.

Mr. Jenkins pointed to a chair. “Have a seat and we can get started.”

She slid into the chair. “Should I have brought my attorney with me?”

Ian leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. Well-defined muscles tested the stitching of his designer suit. “Is there a reason you think you need one?”

Shannon met his unwavering gaze and refused to back down. She was long past the days of allowing herself to be intimidated by any man. If her thirty-two years of life had taught her anything, it was that most men knew how to exploit weakness to their advantage. “I’m not sure yet. You two arranged this little meeting. Why don’t you tell me?”

“I assure you there is nothing out of order going on here,” Jenkins interjected, as if trying to ease the tension.

Ian raked a hand though his silky brown hair. “I do believe Ms. Moore is suspicious of us. Why is that?”

“Let’s just say I’m reserving judgment until I hear what you have to say.”

Jenkins pushed a large folder across the table. “I have highlighted the portion of the will that pertains to your ward, Chelsea Moore. If you’ll just skip to page six...”

“Oh, let her read all of it, Richard. We wouldn’t want her to miss any of the illustrious Bradford secrets.”

Shannon slipped on her glasses and began reading the rather lengthy document. She noted that Ian was not given a copy so she had to assume he had already read the will. She skimmed over the instructions for the funeral arrangements and picked up with the bequests. By page two, she understood why the will made Mr. Jenkins uneasy and Ian Bradford downright bitter.

Wesley Bradford had left every one of his former mistresses a cash endowment. Including her sister and the two even younger ladies that he had carried on with afterward, the count was eighteen women. Her assessment of the man from their one and only meeting had been correct. He had been a cold, unfeeling bastard.

Shannon raised her eyes to glance at Ian’s cynical smirk. Like father, like son. She shivered. “I think I’ll just take this home and read it later.”

“You’re here now. I’d prefer you stay. There is something I’d like to discuss with you.” Ian leaned forward in the chair, completely blocking her view of the attorney.

Jenkins rose and pulled nervously at the cuffs of his jacket. “I’ll go get us some coffee.”

Shannon nodded and scanned her eyes over the highlighted paragraph. She tried to keep her face expressionless as she read the part about Chelsea’s fifty percent interest in Westervelt Properties. Her niece probably wouldn’t have to worry about her college education. Unless the inheritance was what Ian Bradford wanted to discuss.

“I assume you plan to contest the will,” she said dryly.

“I can’t, as Mr. Jenkins will undoubtedly confirm when he returns. However, I’d be interested in purchasing the shares belonging to your ward.”

“My niece,” she countered angrily. “Who also happens to be your sister.”

“I don’t have a sister. My father, unfortunately, had a daughter,” he muttered through clenched teeth.

Shannon thought of the solemn child who had come to live with her six months ago. Poor Chelsea didn’t have much of a family to look up to. Her mother had used her as a meal ticket. She would never know her father. Even Shannon, who did her best to provide a loving environment, had to admit she lacked maternal instincts. Add to that menagerie a brother who refused to acknowledge her and Chelsea didn’t have the makings of a happy life ahead.

Ian watched her, the rigid set of his jaw and his narrowed eyes barely concealing his irritation. He twisted his hands together in a gesture of impatience. “Well?”

“You want me to give you an answer right now?”

“You won’t get a better offer.”

“I’m not even sure what the company entails. You expect me to make a decision on Chelsea’s behalf, with absolutely no information and only your altruistic and unbiased promise that I’m being offered a fair deal? Do I appear to be stupid, Mr. Bradford?”

“Not at all, Ms. Moore. I’m sure you’re very smart.” His compliment sounded more like an accusation.

“Then don’t play me for a fool.”

“I was merely presenting you with the opportunity to hold the child’s inheritance in cash. After all, a lot of things can happen before she turns eighteen. Profitable companies have been known to fold for no apparent reason.”

Was he threatening her or only trying to frighten her into making an immediate decision? “How old are you, Mr. Bradford?”

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Thirtythree. What does that have to do with anything?”

“You’re a little old to be playing If-I-can’t-haveit-all-no-one-can.” She collected the papers from the desk. “If you’ll excuse me, I have nothing more to say to you.”

Ian came to his feet at the same time as Shannon. “Well, I do.”

“Speak through your lawyer in the future. Your communication skills are lacking.”

“Meaning?”

“First of all, if you think you can scare me with your intimidation tactics, you’ve miscalculated.”

“And?” His insolent half grin sent a heated jolt of resentment surging through her. She fought a losing battle to maintain self-control.

“When you want something from someone, it’s advantageous to try being nice instead of insulting your victim.”

“Is that something you learned while growing up in the slums?”

Shannon drew in a deep breath. Obviously, he’d had her background investigated. Did he think that because her family had spent a couple of years financially strapped while her mother went back to school, she would jump at any offer of money? The inheritance didn’t even belong to her.

“This is getting us nowhere. Let me know when you’ve got something worthwhile to say.” She tucked the manila folder under her arm and left the office.

Ian watched her retreat with more interest than was healthy in his present situation. Her long, shapely legs and slim hips moved in a graceful stride despite her evident ire. Once she disappeared from sight, he lowered himself into the chair again. Reining in his disappointment was easier than bringing his hormone level back to normal.

Shannon Moore was one interesting contradiction. A controlled business facade hid the street fighter beneath. Her auburn, collar-length hair framed an oval face and a fringe of bangs drew attention to a pair of huge brown eyes that turned golden with anger.

“What did you say to her, Ian?” Jenkins asked as he came into the conference room. “She stormed out of here at gale force.”

“I made her an offer She wanted some time to think it over.” No doubt she was on the way to her attorney’s office right this moment. He shrugged. She was only a guardian of the trust. Once she learned that she had no say in the running of the company, his offer would start to look good to her.

“She’s nothing like her sister, I can say that for her.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

Jenkins grinned. “Sure you would. Tiffany Moore. She was the one who showed up at your second cousin’s wedding in the leopard bodysuit. Remember?”

Ian recalled the flashy, brassy blonde with the piercing laughter who had made several passes at him. To say his father’s date elicited more stares than the pregnant bride in the white wedding dress was an understatement. “You have to be joking. She was Shannon’s sister?”

While his father’s investigation into his mistress’s background had turned up Shannon’s childhood, as well, Ian had no idea how Shannon supported herself now. By her cool, articulate manner, he would guess she had risen above her humble beginnings. She had acquired the social skills and polish her younger sister lacked.

“We have a few things to discuss, Ian.”

He returned his attention to his father’s lawyer. “Get things started. If she hasn’t gotten back to you in a month, file the petition with the courts.”

“All right. Now, on to a different matter. Wesley paid child support to the mother. Am I to assume with both parties deceased, the arrangement is now terminated?”

Ian gave the question serious thought. He saw no purpose in antagonizing the woman until he knew precisely what she wanted. “No. Send the money to Shannon until she makes up her mind about the company.”

Jenkins cocked one eyebrow. “Shannon?”

“Miss Moore.”

“Be careful, Ian, or you might find yourself falling victim to the same weakness you despised in your father.”

Ian’s lips curved up in a sardonic smile. “There are two big differences. I’m not married and I stick to women born in the same decade as me.”

He closed the file and exhaled a groan. He would not allow the minor development of his attraction to Shannon steer him from his course of action. Westervelt Properties would be returned to his grandfather, no matter what he had to do to fulfill that promise.

Shannon tossed the folder and her keys on the hall table. The one-hour train ride from New York City had given her time to regroup before trying to deal with an energetic child. After checking her mail, she walked across the small front lawn to the house next door. A row of red tulips in the window box signaled the true arrival of spring. The aroma of baking bread lingered as she stepped into the kitchen.

“Oh, Betty Crocker. Where are you?”

“Just a sec.” A moment later Wendy Sommers strolled into the room. A mop of brown curls bounced to the spring in her step. “How was the meeting?”

Shannon rolled her shoulders to relieve the tension at the base of her neck. “More interesting than I had expected.”

Her friend held up a cup. “Coffee?”

“Please.” She dropped into a chair and rested her arms on the glass tabletop. “Chelsea’s brother was there.”

“And?” Wendy prodded.

“When I met Wesley Bradford, I thought no one could be more overbearing. Apparently arrogance is a dominant gene. He passed it on to Ian.”

“Ian seems to have made quite an impression on you.”

Shannon grimaced at Wendy’s inquisitive tone. He’d made an impression, all right. One she didn’t want to admit to, even to herself. “How was Chelsea?”

“She was great. But she missed her auntie Shane.”

“Did she?” she asked a bit uncertainly.

When Shannon had found herself the guardian of a toddler, she panicked. What she knew about children would fit on the head of a pin. To give Chelsea some semblance of a normal life she had returned to the small suburban town where she had spent her teenage years, armed with a library of parenting books.

Finding a high school classmate as her neighbor had eased her return. Wendy’s outgoing nature and blind acceptance of others’ imperfections gave Shannon her first real friend.

“What’s my little princess up to?” Shannon asked.

“She’s watching ‘Sesame Street’ with Anna.” Wendy placed a tray on the table and took a seat. “So tell me more about Mr. Bradford. If he’s Chelsea’s brother, does that make you his aunt?”

“Very funny. Actually, I was a little disappointed. I thought... well, never mind what I thought.” Taking a deep breath, Shannon pushed the troubling concerns from her mind. “He’s made it clear he plans to uphold that Bradford family tradition of ignoring Chelsea’s existence.”

Wendy stared thoughtfully, then let out a small giggle. “Why, Shannon Moore, you’re nothing more than a closet optimist. You figured he would learn about his sister and he’d be bursting with sibling love and pride.”

Hearing her delusional fantasies described like that, Shannon realized how naive she was. She took a sip of coffee and leaned back in the chair with a wistful sigh. “Maybe I did. But if you tell anyone, I’ll deny it. I have a reputation to maintain in this town as a high-powered, no-nonsense barracuda.”

“But a barracuda who shows us how to invest our money. And we love you for it. Not to mention that you keep a lot of us employed.”

“Because I can’t do anything pertaining to house maintenance by myself.” Shannon blessed the education and the business connections that allowed her to continue serving her clients and still be at home for Chelsea. Otherwise the upkeep on a house would have been beyond her means. “And this mothering thing is a whole lot tougher than Donna Reed and June Cleaver made it out to be.”

“Suzy Homemaker, you ain’t,” Wendy agreed. “Give up those ridiculous books on raising children and follow your instincts. As long as love is there, you’ll do fine.”

Shannon sighed. Where her friend’s house smelled of potpourri and fresh-baked pies, she usually had to air out the odor of burned cookies. As for following her instincts, she had none. Her own parents’ self-serving emotional tugs-of-war had left her unprepared for the role of a supportive parent.

“I’m glad I wasn’t looking for a sympathetic shoulder.” She could only hope her friend was right and her love for the little girl who had taken up residence in her heart would be enough.

“Do you want me to lie to you?” Wendy asked.

“Please. I’ve had about as much of the truth as I can stand today.”

“Lord, Shannon. I’ve never known you to let any man rattle you. Even when we were back in high school.”

“I’m not rattled. I’m in complete control.”

If that were true, why had Ian been able to provoke her into losing her temper, something no man had ever done before? How had his stone-cold glare generated an unfamiliar heat in her? She couldn’t be attracted to the man.

Then why couldn’t she banish his image from her mind?

Two

Ian glanced around the office. The old cherrywood furniture he’d dragged up from storage returned the room to the way he remembered it from his childhood visits. No matter how much of the past he tried to recreate, one fact could not be denied. His grandfather was not yet the sole owner of Westervelt Properties again.

In the past few weeks Ian had prepared himself for an inevitable showdown with Shannon Moore. Actually, he had been looking forward to another meeting. Why hadn’t she contacted him or Jenkins? He didn’t believe she would walk away from the inheritance without a fight. At the very least, he figured she would take the money. The only thing he hadn’t expected was her silence.

After twenty years, a two-week wait should be easy. It had been hell. What was her game? Instead of turning over the daily running of the company to his grandfather as he had planned, he had come in every day expecting to hear from her. He had to get back to his own business.

He scanned the mail then tossed it aside. His gaze returned to the pile. The top letter had no return address, but the Walton, New York, postmark struck a familiar chord. He slit open the top of the envelope and removed the contents. Between a folded slip of paper were two halves of a child support check written out to Shannon Moore.

Shannon sucked in a deep, calming breath. Her cream-colored slacks had a bright red stain on the leg and a pile of SpaghettiOs covered one suede pump. The plastic bowl Chelsea had tossed from the table rolled around the kitchen floor. Only yesterday the pasta dish had been the child’s favorite.

“That wasn’t nice, Chelsea. Say ‘I’m sorry.’ ” Shannon kept her voice quiet but stern.

“No.”

“You have to apologize or go to your room for a time-out.”

Chelsea folded her small arms across her chest and pushed out her chin. “No.”

Shannon tried to recall what the book said to do in this situation. Lose your temper and you lose control. Had Dr. What’s-his-name ever worn a bowl of spaghetti? Limit your admonitions to the deed, not the child.

She placed her hand on Chelsea’s shoulder. “I’m very disappointed by your behavior.”

An earth-curdling scream reverberated around the room. Shannon’s jaw dropped. How could such a horrific sound come from a little girl? She reached for the book on the counter and thumbed though the chapter on temper tantrums.

What was she doing wrong? Her every attempt to reach the petulant child had failed. Chelsea shied away from demonstrative gestures and met friendly overtures with wary silence.

Chelsea’s psychologist had assured Shannon that Chelsea would emerge from her introverted shell when she got used to her new surroundings. Was this show of defiance an improvement? During her years as a Wall Street broker Shannon had handled nervous and often angry clients with detached calm, yet one small child reduced her to near helplessness.

She tossed the book in the garbage and fell back on the same strategy she used when dealing with any irrational adult. She walked away for a coolingoff period. A headache pounded against her temples. To make matters worse, the doorbell rang. She had visions of the police breaking down the front door and arresting her on child endangerment charges.

Obviously, parenthood had taken what little sanity she had once possessed.

Just when she thought she had hit bottom, she opened the door to find Ian Bradford leaning against the support beam on her front porch. His deep blue eyes ran an appraising gaze over her unflattering appearance. His laughter topped off an already rotten morning. She glanced over her shoulder at the child, then back to him.

“Is this a family visit?” she asked.

“Are you having a bad day?” Did he have to look so damned pleased?

“No. I normally walk around the house covered in tomato sauce while Chelsea serenades me in the key of C.” Why didn’t those child-rearing experts with their psychobabble warn her to change out of her business clothes before feeding a child? “What do you want?”

“May I come in?”

She waved her hand with a flourish. “Be my guest.”

If nothing else, his arrival put an end to Chelsea’s vocal tantrum. Within seconds, Shannon had a pint-size appendage attached to her leg, hindering her as she tried to show Ian into the living room.

“Have a seat. I have to get changed.” Scooping the child up in her arms, she darted to her bedroom.

She plopped Chelsea on the bed and quickly shed her soiled slacks in favor of a brightly colored peasant skirt. Paired with her ruffled blouse, she looked like a Gypsy. She searched her closet for a better choice, then gave up. Why did she care? It wasn’t as if she wanted to impress the man.

“Who he is?” Chelsea asked.

Shannon ran a brush though Chelsea’s baby-fine hair and for the first time the child didn’t flinch away. “He’s your brother, Ian.”

“Chelsea wants a cookie.” Obviously, the discovery of a big brother was less appealing than Mrs. Fields’s chocolate chip cookies.

“Not now.” Braced for the worst, Shannon was pleasantly surprised when the child shrugged and turned her attention to the crystal perfume bottles on her vanity.

“I sorry,” Chelsea said to the reflection in the mirror.

A little late, but Shannon got her apology. The simple words felt like a major triumph. “I know. Leave that for now. We have a guest.”

They returned to the living room where Ian had made himself right at home in the overstuffed chair. Shannon noted the way he carefully avoided looking at his sister. Any hope that some sense of family obligation or even natural curiosity had compelled his visit faded in a flash. Her niece would continue to live without a male influence in her life.

“I expected to hear from you,” Ian said.

“Did I say I would call?” She pushed a teddy bear out of the way and sat on the sofa. Chelsea scrambled into Shannon’s lap and cuddled close.

“You returned my check.”

“I didn’t know what it was for.”

“Child support for...ah...”

“Your sister?”

He exhaled slowly. “She’s not my sister.”

Shannon tenderly stroked the child’s back, lulling her into a quiet, dreamlike state. “If you don’t consider her family, then there’s no reason for you to support her.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yes, you did.”

Ian noted the quiet sorrow in her words. She seemed tired. Obviously the girl was a handful. Although right now, falling asleep m her aunt’s lap, she looked like a little angel. He dragged his gaze away. He had no business feeling anything for this blue-eyed imp.

“Just tell me what you want,” he said.

“Did I ask you for anything, Mr Bradford?”

“No. As a matter of fact, you’ve been conspicuous by your silence. You must have a price. A bottom line?”

“You seem to be under the mistaken impression that I have something to sell. The inheritance belongs to Chelsea, not me.”

“And as her legal guardian you make all decisions regarding her money and property until her eighteenth birthday.”

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “If those decisions are in her best interest, not yours.”

“The money would allow you to afford some help with the child.”

Her golden eyes flashed with anger. “Would you stop calling her ‘the child’? Her name is Chelsea.”

“Fine, Chelsea could have a nanny, you could hire a housekeeper...”

“So, now my house is dirty?” Her whispered words reflected her irritation as clearly as if she had shouted.

He glanced around the room at the assortment of toys that littered the obviously expensive furniture. However, despite the presence of a two-year-old, the pale blue print sofa and chair were surprisingly spotless. “Not dirty, exactly.”

“Perhaps you’d like to take a moment to get your foot out of your mouth.”

Ian rose and paced around the room. Shannon had been right. His communication skills were lacking, but only around her. Normally, he made his point without leaving room for argument.

She carefully slipped out from underneath the child and lovingly tucked a small crocheted blanket around her tiny body. “She doesn’t need nannies, cooks and housekeepers coming in and out of her life.” Shannon stormed into the kitchen.

Ian followed. “Then why don’t you tell me what the chi.. Chelsea needs.”

As she spun to face him, her full skirt swirled around her legs. “Time, Ian. She needs time and compassion and love from what little family she has left. Are you offering her your time in return for her shares in the company?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’s not difficult to understand. You can deal with her now or when she’s an eighteen-year-old stranger you didn’t have the time or interest to know.”

“I don’t follow.”

“You want your precious company. Fine.” She leaned against the tile counter and folded her arms over her waist. Her full red lips curved upward in a challenging smile. “For the next twelve months you maintain a regular relationship with your sister. At the end of the year you can buy her shares in the company.”

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch.”

“And if I refuse?”

She shook her head. “I’m not about to make a bunch of empty threats. That’s something you’ll have to fight out with Chelsea fifteen years from now. The only decision you have to make is how long you want to wait for Westervelt Properties.”

“And you believe that blackmailing me into visiting my sister is in her best interest.”

Shannon met his gaze without blinking. Despite the fact that he towered a full head above her, she didn’t show any sign of being intimidated. “First of all, I’m not blackmailing you, I’m bribing you. And secondly, the idea must have some merit, since that’s the first time you’ve referred to her as your sister.”

Ian bit back an angry retort. He still had the option of suing for control of Chelsea’s inheritance, but he had no guarantee he’d win. He didn’t like having his back against a wall. Shannon obviously knew how to manipulate a man She might present a better package, but was she really any different than her gold-digging sister?

“What’s in it for you?”

“Nothing.”

“Given your family history, I find that hard to believe.”

She arched her eyebrows. “And which history is that?”

“Your sister managed to get herself a substantial child support settlement. You mother married her wealthy patient less than a month after she began working as his private nurse.”

“You had my mother investigated, too?” She blinked and he noted an unmistakable sadness in her shimmering eyes. “Don’t you have anything better to do with your time and money?”

“I never had any of you investigated. That was Wesley’s doing,” he said, too defensively for his own liking. Where had this feeling of guilt come from? He’d never felt compelled to explain his actions to anyone.

“Oh, your father. That paragon of family values who was seduced and outwitted by his twenty-five-year-old manicurist.”

“I never said he was blameless.”

“They’re both to blame but Chelsea is the only one who’s left to pay.” She pushed off the counter and walked to the Dutch door. “Why don’t you go back to the city and try to figure out what’s in it for me. I have a dirty house to clean right now.” She gestured toward the alcove where the pile of spaghetti stained the white tile floor.

“Listen, Shannon...”

She opened the screen door. “Just go. We’ve both said enough for today. It will only get nastier.”

She was throwing him out! He couldn’t believe it.

Perhaps he should leave. He needed distance. Something inside him responded to her Not in the obvious way, although in different circumstances, he probably would have been drawn to her cool, reserved beauty. She reached him on a different, more primitive level, bringing out the worst side of his nature. The part of him that reacted without thinking. She had the ability to disarm him and that made her a dangerous woman.

If her sister had possessed one-tenth of Shannon’s allure, he could understand how his father had lost his head. And, God help him, if he wasn’t careful, he could end up a casualty of the same fate.

Shannon watched from the front yard as Ian got in his sports car and drove away. When she turned to go back in the house, she saw Wendy sitting on her front stoop with a mischievous grin on her face.

“Now, that was a man!”

“You could have fooled me,” Shannon grumbled.

“Put on your glasses, girl. He’s gorgeous.”

“He’s also Chelsea’s brother.”

Wendy crossed the lawn and met her at the picket fence. “So that’s the mysterious Ian. No wonder you haven’t wanted to talk about him. You’re keeping him all to yourself.”

“You’re a happily married mother of three.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m dead.”

Shannon let out a puff of air. “That man isn’t interested in any kind of long-term relationships.”

“Who cares? That’s the kind of man you have fun with. You don’t have to marry him.”

“I don’t have fun with men.”

“That’s because you don’t have one like him.” Wendy sent her a sly wink. “If you’re not interested, send him over here. I’ll play house with him.”

Shannon pressed her hand to her chest and feigned shock. “You’re destroying my illusions of the demure suburban housewife.”

“I know. You thought we sat around all day watching soap operas and swapping cake recipes while you career women got to eat power lunches and live out all your carnal fantasies.”

“I never thought that you sat around all day and I certainly never lived out any of my carnal fantasies.”

Her last relationship had ended due to lack of interest. The Saturday night dinners and the obligatory Tuesday night sex had been so routine as to be boring. With hindsight, she realized that all her liaisons had been with safe, dull, predictable men. Rather than chance a passionate romance that ended in a bitter feud like her parents’, she chose to take no risks at all.

Somehow, she didn’t imagine Ian would be predictable. Intense, exciting, maybe even dangerous, but never predictable.

She couldn’t believe she was wondering about his male prowess. He didn’t have one desirable quality to attract her in the first place. Except maybe, a body to die for. An involuntary smile tugged at the corner of her mouth and a shiver danced along her spine. This train of thought would land her in the kind of trouble she had successfully avoided up until now. She shook her head and focused on her friend’s knowing smirk.

“Are you telling me that you’re not the least bit interested?” Wendy asked.

“In a relationship with Ian?”

“No. In some pure, unadulterated knock-your-socks-off sex with him.”

The hot flush crept up Shannon’s cheeks. “Is nothing sacred to you?”

“I guess that means you are. Good. You need some fun in your life.”

Shannon changed the subject. “Can you watch Chelsea tomorrow? I have to meet with a client in the city.”

“No problem.” Wendy bent down to pluck a weed from her flower bed. When she rose again, she handed Shannon a yellow daisy and asked innocently, “Doesn’t Ian live in the city? If you decide you want to spend the night, I’ll keep Chelsea...”

“Wendy. Stay out of my love life.”

“You have to have one before I can stay out of it.”

Muffling a yelp of frustration, Shannon stomped back to her house. Wendy meant well with her friendly probing, but Shannon wasn’t used to discussing her private life. Although she had loved Tiffany dearly, they hadn’t been the kind of sisters who traded confidences. They had both lived through the same trying and painful experiences but their lives had taken very different roads.

Shannon had put all her energies into a career so that she would never be dependent on the financial whims of a man. Before she’d received custody of Chelsea, the only commitment in her life had been a car loan.

Her sister, conversely, had begun a quest for a man who would keep her in style. If that man already had a wife, so much the better. When Tiffany began her affair with Wesley, she figured she had hit the mother lode. And for a while she lived very well, but as Wesley’s interest started to wane, she had made sure she had a stranglehold on his wallet in the form of Chelsea.

Perhaps Ian had a right to feel bitter and angry. It must have been a shock to learn he had a sister young enough to be his daughter. Would he eventually get beyond his misgivings and open his heart to Chelsea as family? Did he even understand the concept?

Ian drove his car up the winding driveway that led to his grandfather’s home. The large Colonial house was the only place Ian felt remotely comfortable. He had spent most of his childhood summers with his grandparents, back in the days when Wakefield, Connecticut, was still considered the country rather than an extended suburb of New York City. Despite the changes, he still enjoyed his visits.

Adam Westervelt was on the front lawn tending his prized roses. At seventy-five, his grandfather was more active and fit than many men half his age. Fate hadn’t been kind to the older man. In his lifetime Adam had buried his wife and both his children.

“Come see this, Ian.” As he stepped from the car, Adam waved him over. “The American Beauty rose. Soft, delicate and beautiful. A lot like a woman, eh?”

“Including the thorns,” Ian observed pointedly.

“You’re a cynic.”

“I’m a realist.”

“Living your life alone is not reality, boy. Sharing your life, now that’s real.”

Ian stifled a groan. He wasn’t up for another lecture on the virtues of marriage. There wasn’t much he would refuse his grandfather, but he had no inclinations toward finding himself a wife. “I’m not here to discuss me. When will you be ready to take over Westervelt Properties again?”

“I appreciate what you’re trying to do...”

“All I’m doing is returning what is rightfully yours.”

Adam tossed his gardening gloves to the ground. “The only reason I felt bitter about Wesley’s betrayal was because I wanted the company for you. It’s yours now. The circle has come full turn.”

“I have my own work and, quite honestly, investments, insurance and the like don’t interest me. The company bears your name, and you’re going to run it again.”

Adam placed his hand on Ian’s shoulder. Despite the old man’s protests, his eyes contained the first spark of excitement Ian had seen in years.

“Is your sister in agreement with this arrangement?”

“What?” Ian choked. He had not mentioned the specifics of Wesley’s will and had instructed the lawyer not to, either.

“Did you think I wouldn’t hear? That kind of news has a way of making the rounds.”

Ian drew a deep breath. With eighteen exmistresses all receiving cash endowments, he shouldn’t be surprised that some of them were bound to talk. Especially when a couple of the women lived in this very town. “I should have told you.”

“I’m not surprised he had an illegitimate child. Considering the way he carried on, I’m surprised there aren’t more. So, have you met her?”

“Yes.”

“And does she have any interest in running the company?” Adam asked.

“Maybe in twenty years or so.”

“I don’t follow.”

“She’s two years old,” Ian muttered in distaste.

Adam frowned. “Now, that does surprise me.”

“Don’t look so worried. One way or another, I’ll be buying out her shares.”

“I’m only disappointed because I’d hoped she’d be more of a contemporary of yours. You need family. I’m not going to be around forever and you show no signs of settling down to have a family of your own.”

“I don’t need one.” Nor did he want the emotional roller-coaster ride that went along with any long-term relationship. Some women used sex to get what they wanted, and some withheld sex to achieve their goal. But in the end they all wanted the same thing—a ring on their finger and unlimited access to a credit line.

“Then why are you building yourself that freight empire? Who are you going to leave it to? Even Wesley, for all his faults, passed his possessions on to his children.”

Ian refrained from mentioning that his father’s will had been the final insult to a lifetime of injury. He had received the bulk of the cash assets, which he couldn’t have cared less about. Westervelt Properties, which he did want, went in equal shares, but he would be responsible for managing the company. If he were spiteful, he could run the company into the ground, but he would not destroy something that bore his grandfather’s name and was a source of pride to Adam. Also, taking an inheritance from a child would make him no better than his father.

His mind wandered to little Chelsea Moore. If Wesley had left his money to the child and the company to Ian, would he have been so quick to dismiss the blood bond between them? Probably not. She was his sister and no amount of denial would change that fact.

He thought about Shannon. If she did turn out to be like her social-climbing mother and her scheming sister, who would be there to look out for Chelsea’s interests?

Like it or not, he had to assume a role in his sister’s upbringing and keep an eye on Shannon Moore at the same time. When he remembered the golden-eyed woman who’d had the unmitigated gall to ask him to leave her house, he laughed. Did she always give as good as she got?

Ian grinned. This new position he had appointed for himself was beginning to appeal to him.

Three

Shannon made one more run through the house. Not a toy or an article of clothing was out of place. She checked her watch for the third time in as many minutes. Why was she working herself into a state over Ian’s visit? His crack about hiring a housekeeper had bothered her more than she’d realized. Keeping up with Chelsea while juggling her clients had taken a toll. If a few dolls and crayons didn’t get put back on a shelf, that didn’t make her a bad guardian.

Two months ago Ian hadn’t known about his sister. Two weeks ago he was still denying any relationship to her. Now he wanted to come over and discuss her upbringing? Who the hell did he think he was? For the past half year she had been raising Chelsea without financial or emotional support from the Bradfords.

With Chelsea at preschool for the morning, Shannon figured she wouldn’t have to mind her words when Ian invariably said something to tick her off. Why did she allow him to get to her?

She still had an hour left before he was due and, seeing a speck of lint on the gray carpet, she pulled the vacuum out again. Cranking up the volume on the CD player to be heard above the drone, she began her task. The sheer boredom of the chore made her look for ways to amuse herself while working.

The amplifiers blared with a classic disco song. Shannon bowed to her vacuum. “Would you care to dance?”

As a partner, Hoover was on the short side, but his powerful beater bar propelled him over the carpet with ease, if not grace. If she overlooked the fact that she had to lead, he did a mean hustle.

The music ended and she curtsied to her date. “Thank you, kind sir.”

A round of applause broke the silence. Shannon let out a yelp and whirled around. Ian filled the archway between the foyer and living room, his aloof grin mocking her. Her heart beat double-time, more from fright than physical exertion.

“The door was open. Had I known you were already entertaining, I would have waited outside.”

“You’re early,” she sputtered.

Once again Ian had caught her off balance with his brilliant sense of timing. Did he possess some kind of radar that allowed him to zero in on her at the worst possible moment?

“The traffic was light. I made good time.”

“Couldn’t you have stopped for coffee somewhere?”

“I didn’t realize your busy schedule was so inflexible.”

“Do you think I just sit around all day?”

He wasn’t in the house for two minutes and already he had her on the defensive. His tailored suit screamed “Power,” while her tattered Jeans and tie-dyed shirt said “Woodstock groupie.” More unsettling were the piercing blue eyes that appraised her with a scorching intensity.

After tucking the vacuum back into the closet, she gestured toward the sofa. “Have a seat.”

“Where’s Chelsea?”

“School.”

He lowered himself into the plump cushion with lazy ease. “Isn’t she young for that?”

Shannon shrugged. “Nursery school.”

“Oh. What do you do while she’s in school?”

“I keep busy.”

“In this town?”

She planted both hands firmly on her hips. “What’s wrong with this town?”

“Nothing. Are we going to start with an argument or can we save that for the finale when you kick me out again?”

Was she being overly sensitive? She had decided to move Chelsea to Walton precisely because it was a small town. The quiet and safety had been the biggest drawing points. Sucking in a calming breath, she dropped into the chair across from Ian. “What did you want to talk about?”

“The company. Your offer. Mostly Chelsea’s future.”

Her eyebrow arched in question. “Why the sudden change of attitude?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Last time you were here I got the distinct impression you didn’t think Chelsea deserved anything.”

“I reacted inappropriately and I’m sorry.” His apology seemed out of character. She searched his face for some sign of emotion, either sincere or faked, but his features remained impassive.

“Forget it.”

“I brought you some information about the company.” He removed a thick envelope from his pocket and handed it across the table.

As she reached out, his calloused fingers brushed over hers. The physical reaction was swift and acute, causing her to gasp. Hoping to deny the tingling sensations running rampant, she retracted her hand and muttered, “Static electricity.”

“Right.” Ian stifled a chuckle. Her cheeks had turned the same red shade as his grandfather’s American Beauty. This was not the same woman he had met in Jenkins’s office, or even the one he had seen a couple weeks ago. Shannon Moore had many different facets.

He had deliberately arrived early to catch her off guard and his plan had paid off. The rigid armor of control she wore to keep people at a distance seemed to have deserted her. Her startled response to their accidental contact had been no more shocking to her than to him.

He, too, felt the seductive connection between them. And he, too, felt the need to deny it. “Anyway. If there’s anything there you don’t understand, I’d be happy to explain it to you.”

Shannon swiped her glasses off the coffee table and slipped them on. “I have no intention of interfering in the way you run the company.”

“That’s the problem. I don’t plan to run Westervelt Properties. Investment strategy is not my specialty. I plan to turn over the running of the company to someone more qualified in the field.”

“Did you have someone in mind?” A spark of interest ignited her amber eyes. Or was it distrust he saw reflected?

“It’s already taken care of.”

“Oh.” He wasn’t sure but he thought he heard a hint of disappointment in her voice. Had she expected him to consult with her first?

As she glanced through the pamphlets, he used the moment to study her. Sunlight filtering in from the bay window cast a fiery glow over her hair. Faded denim jeans molded the long legs she had tucked beneath her nicely rounded bottom. He recalled her uninhibited dance number and the uncomfortable reaction he’d experienced from the sight. That same tension returned. Who was he kidding? His present condition had little to do with tension and a lot to do with desire. He shifted in the seat and let out a muffled groan.

Shannon fixed her gaze on him. “Did you say something?”

What she did to his insides with just a look defied logic. His plan to catch her off balance and keep her there was backfiring in a big way. “Do you need anything explained?”

“No.” She rolled her shoulders and rubbed her fingers over the back of her neck. The gesture, while seemingly innocent, was purely provocative. Her full breasts strained against the T-shirt.

He cleared his throat. “I need Chelsea’s social security number. I can’t seem to find it in my father’s papers.”

“Why?”

“For business reasons. She is a partner right now. And while I remember, you’ll be receiving the monthly support checks again, so—”

“No,” she said firmly.

“Why?”

“I will not be paid like some baby-sitter to care for my niece.”

“My sister.”

She sprang to her feet and tossed the papers onto the coffee table. “Then act like her brother, not some trustee appointed to care for her needs. You haven’t spent ten minutes with her yet. You have no idea what she needs.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, how do you plan to support her?”

“I’ve done just fine without you up to this point, Ian. I own the house and I pick up work on a freelance basis.” Her eyes blazed with indignation.

“Then I don’t understand what you want from me.”

“I don’t want anything from you. I thought we were discussing Chelsea.” She slid her hands into her pockets and leaned against the mantel surrounding a stone fireplace.

“Don’t you think the thirty-year age difference will make it difficult for us to become friends?”

“Friends will come and go out of her life. Family is forever and age has nothing to do with the relationship.”

His gaze traveled slowly over her rigid frame. This family issue seemed very important to her. Given what he knew of her background, he couldn’t understand why. “You realize, of course, that being a constant influence in her life would make me a constant presence in yours.”

“Every silver lining has a cloud,” she said dryly.

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